The Eyes of a Doll (The World of Shijuren Book 2)

by Howell, Rob

  I removed my sword.

  “Now get up and try again.”

  She got up, still growling. We engaged again and, finally, my frustration and anger bubbled over. I marched her around the field, taking advantage of my experience and skill to replace efficiency with power. I pounded at her arms and shoulders when she blocked low and hammered at her thighs when she blocked high.

  “As I’m beating you to a pulp, at least try and find a vulnerable spot and strike at me.”

  She responded to my mocking taunts with several ineffective blows, but she did not discover the weaknesses of my round shield. In her defense, I could already see bruising on her arms and legs, reducing her speed and strength.

  My anger and rage at the events of the last month faded with each strike. Piri watched and waited as I taught a lesson and healed myself at the same time. With impeccable timing, she halted our bout right as both my anger and Maja’s arrogance ebbed to a neap tide.

  “Well, Sevener?”

  I panted at Piri with one last bit of rage. “Please tell me your other recruits are better.”

  Piri shrugged. “Probably can’t be much worse.”

  I shook my head. “You were deadlier the day you got out of swaddling clothes.”

  Piri shrugged again, this time with a small smile. “I suspect so.”

  The pain and exhaustion were hitting Maja as we cooled down, but our dismissal of her skills struck her more painfully than any of my blows. She finally looked down.

  “Sevener, what do you think will help her?”

  “Nothing, Piri, not until she grows up.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. She’s worse than untrained. She’s talented, but she doesn’t know what her talents are and does things that don’t work for her. She compounds her mistakes with aggression. Right now, all she’ll do is get everyone else in her shieldwall killed. Hopefully, she’ll die alongside them, and you’ll be done with her.”

  Somewhere Hlodowic smiled as I repeated, word for word, a speech he had made to my father about me after one day on the practice field.

  “Hmmm.”

  “Piri, you know she’ll kill every Pathfinder alongside her if you send her out now.”

  “What would they do with her in the Seven Kingdoms?”

  “Make her work a year or so on a farm, training her skills at arms only after she got her work done. Then, if her she continued to put her anger and pride ahead of her shield-kin, she’d be cast out to wander, stripped of her rights to a bench and a hall, and despised as an oath-breaker.”

  My own past crushed my soul for a moment, but I turned to her.

  “Maja, look at me.”

  She lifted her head to glare at me.

  “Die, if you will, on the blade of the first raider to find you. But I beg you, never allow yourself to live as an oath-breaker.”

  I stared at her until she looked away.

  Chapter 7

  Afternoon, 1 Blommemoanne, 1712 A.G.

  After I returned to the Faerie, I spent an hour repairing straps and everything else I could find wrong with my armor. Soon its fresh coat of oil perfumed my room.

  Now, after bathing, I sat in the Faerie at my table with most of lunch remaining on a plate before me. I nursed one of Ragnar’s ales. My body and armor were clean and fresh, but my mind swirled and felt as muddy as Brunanburh’s flats at low tide.

  I looked up as Kapric and Zvono walked in, followed by a woman with a broad body and a broader smile. The stern officiousness of the quaesitors could not overwhelm the woman’s cheerfulness.

  “Sevener.”

  “Good afternoon, Kapric.”

  “Meet Marjana Gropa.”

  “Gropa?”

  “My mother.”

  Surprised, I rose and bowed to her. “Well met. I’m sorry for what I caused to happen to your family.”

  Her smile broadened. “Didn’t bother me and mine so much. We’re not so fancy as Pal or Vesela and those that live up the hill. We’re but merchants and craftsmen for the most part.”

  “Except Kapric?”

  She waved her finger at me. “Foolish thought. He’s a craftsman too, never you doubt.”

  I paused. “You’re right. I apologize to both of you.”

  “Was that so hard to say, Sevener?”

  “He’s just so arrogant sometimes, Zvono.” I smiled slyly.

  “All of you shut up,” growled Kapric.

  “See what I mean?” I grinned at Marjana.

  “Oh, hush. He’s a good boy.”

  Laughing, I waved to Karah and we sat down. Karah brought over mugs and more ale.

  “What brings you and your good boy here?”

  “He thinks I can help.”

  I raised my eyebrow at Kapric and he shrugged.

  “She does voices better than anyone I know, and she’s won’t scare the girl.”

  “Voices? Like accents?”

  “It is that I am able to speak in such ways, as the one here says,” Marjana said in a stilted yet flowing accent I had never heard.

  “And you want her to talk to Honker’s daughter.”

  They nodded.

  “So let’s finish these and go visit them.”

  We left the Faerie and wound around back up the Fifth Serpent. At its end, near Harald’s house, a variety of neighbors were working on their projects in the street, each glancing suspiciously at every person coming up the street. They relaxed as they saw us.

  Honker’s door stood open, and I stiffened in worry until I saw Sebastijan’s largest retainer at the door.

  “Well, if it isn’t the sheep’s dick.”

  I looked up at him. “Well, if it isn’t Sebastijan’s largest asshole.”

  He laughed as he looked down at me.

  “What is your name, anyway?”

  “Radovan.”

  “Well, Radovan, my name is Edward. Apparently Sebastijan did not pass on my message to you. I told him that if you call me a sheep’s dick again, I’ll throw you into the lake.”

  “Oh, he passed that message on. I just wanted to see if you were serious.”

  “He’s serious enough,” groused Kapric. “And we don’t have any time for this.”

  Radovan laughed, but Kapric overrode him. “We need to speak to Ludmilja. Are she and her mother around?”

  He nodded and waved us in. Arrogant though he might be, Radovan remained attentive to the street. I could wait to toss him into Lake Achrida until I no longer needed him.

  Ludmilja’s mother looked down the hall with a worried expression that cleared just a touch when she saw us.

  I tried to calm her. “I’m sorry, mistress, in the bustle yesterday, I did not ask your name.”

  She looked down shyly. “No need for that.”

  “Of course there is. We can’t simply call you Honker’s lass.”

  She wrung her hands but finally said, “I am Soraya.”

  “That’s an odd name for someone around here,” soothed Zvono.

  “My baka worked for a great lady from the east. She was always kind to my mother as a lass. It means the Seven Sisters, or at least that’s what Mother told me.”

  “The constellation?”

  Soraya nodded, looking at the floor.

  I chuckled. “It’s a very pretty name, good mistress, and frankly all of the names around here seem odd to me.”

  She looked up briefly and almost smiled before looking down again.

  “We’re here to speak with Ludmilja again.”

  “And Nadja,” Zvono added without any trace of a smile.

  “But surely she’s told you everything!”

  In her fear Soraya looked ready to panic, but Marjana stepped forward.

  “Worry not, my dear. I just want to play a game with her.”

  Even Soraya could not resist Marjana’s cheerfulness and she finally smiled slightly.

  “As you wish, milady.”

  We followed her into the large kitchen where Ludmilja kneaded br
ead dough at a large table. She looked up nervously as we entered.

  Zvono went over to her.

  “Good day, Ludmilja. Do you and Nadja have time to play?”

  She looked at her mother with her mouth wide open.

  Soraya nodded. “Go get Nadja, dear. I’ll finish kneading the dough.”

  Ludmilja ran out the door and almost immediately ran right back clutching Nadja. I motioned to Kapric, and we stepped back to let Zvono and Marjana handle this.

  “Ludmilja, this is Marjana. She wants to play too.”

  Ludmilja nodded shyly.

  “We have a special game to play, Ludmilja,” Marjana said as she stroked the girl’s hair.

  Ludmilja cuddled into her. Soraya, horrified at Ludmilja’s presumption, opened her mouth, but Marjana shook her head cheerfully.

  “I want to tell you some stories, and I want Nadja to tell me some back. Do you think Nadja would like that?”

  Ludmilja nodded.

  “I’ll go first. Do you like Marko stories?”

  Marko was a legendary hero here in Achrida, and Ludmilja nodded happily.

  “Have you or Nadja heard the one where Marko learned the language of animals?”

  Ludmilja shook her head.

  Marjana laughed and launched into the story of Marko, who once walked on a path during a thunderstorm. Lightning struck all around him, but Marko continued, for he knew no fear. Then, suddenly, a bolt struck a great oak tree near him. The tree was old and knew that its time had come, but in its wisdom and generosity it fell so as to save all the creatures that lived amongst its branches and roots.

  But it had slept much in its old age, and so had not seen the serpent who nested in a small hollow under one great root. As it fell, its roots trapped the serpent. Marko heard the wailing of the serpent’s agony and could not bear to leave it in such distress. So Marko lifted the great trunk, and the snake slithered out into the rain. Marko took some branches and arranged his cloak along the tree to provide shelter for the wounded serpent. Soon, other creatures that had lived with the oak shyly came into the rude shelter. As the rain fell, they all fell asleep to await the storm’s passing.

  The next morning, the animals left to find another home, all except the serpent, who was troubled. At this point, Marjana switched to the dialect she had used earlier in the Faerie to speak as the serpent.

  “It is that you should not have saved me, Prince Marko, for it is my nature to bite all of your kind. It is that my bite is always fatal.”

  Prince Marko was astounded, as no animal had ever talked to him before.

  “How is it that you can talk to me?”

  “It is that I am a prince as well. It is that I but reside here to learn the realm that my father rules. But still, it is that you should not have saved me. The one that is my father will think less of me should I not bite you.”

  “Then by all means, do that.”

  “It is that you would die, though, as I would have had you not lifted this tree.”

  “You must stand before your father in honor. So must I.”

  Marjana continued in the story, and all in the kitchen were mesmerized. Kapric had a dreamy look on his face.

  The serpent immediately slithered up Marko’s leg and around his neck so he could look Marko in the eye. His tongue flicked before Marko’s nose. Seeing no fear, the serpent then asked Marko if he would come before the Serpent King. Marko, ever curious, immediately agreed, and off the strange couple went traveling. Many leagues they marched together, each hunting and foraging in his own way.

  Then the serpent informed Marko that they had reached his father’s castle and led him inside. The Serpent King rejoiced to see his son after such a harrowing tale, but looked at Marko wonderingly.

  “And yet, it is that this one still lives.”

  “I could not grant him his reward.”

  “Then it is I that shall give this one his reward.”

  Thrice did the king offer Marko a reward. Thrice did he promise Marko great treasure. Thrice did he offer gold and jewels. Yet, each time did Marko decline, for such was his nature. Finally, the Serpent King sighed and insisted that Marko receive his kiss as a reward. This Marko accepted, though he knew this was death.

  The Serpent King reached out his mouth, with fangs dripping of poison, but he stopped before biting Marko.

  “This is not how a king rules,” hissed the Serpent King. Swiftly, before even Marko could move, the King slithered up Marko as his prince had done. The King wrapped himself around Marko’s entire head, covering eyes, ears, and mouth, though allowing Marko to breathe. Marko wondered at this method of death, but simply accepted his fate.

  Soon, though, he realized that the Serpent King’s movements scraped the scales of his body in an intricate pattern around Marko’s ears, causing a slight but definite noise. As Marko listened, he realized that the Serpent King was teaching him the language of serpents, then soon the language of birds and dogs and cats and cows and sheep and all other creatures.

  “It is time that you go and keep to your nature,” said the king, “lest the time come that my kiss teaches a different lesson.”

  At the conclusion of the story, we all took a breath.

  “Did you like that story, Ludmilja?”

  Ludmilja nodded and smiled.

  “Do you have a story to tell us back?”

  Ludmilja immediately launched into a chatterbox story of finding a frog by a pond and how it kept squirming out of her hands.

  Marjana looked at us and shook her head slightly.

  “Well, it’s not a Berzeti accent,” whispered Kapric to me.

  After a while, Marjana asked if Ludmilja wanted another Marko story. Ludmilja nodded happily.

  This time Marjana told of the time Marko first arrived in Dassaretum. The mighty prince heard of a fearsome dragon who nested by a small lake. Marko, of course, felt no fear at the prospect of meeting such a dragon, but the beauty of these mountains put in his heart a desire to know all he could of this land. Who better to ask than the old dragon who had lived here for centuries?

  Marko knew that should he show his full might, the dragon would immediately set forth to attack him. So, in order to coax him into conversation, Marko disguised himself as a shepherd and wandered into the realm of the dragon.

  When the dragon sprang upon Marko, the prince begged the dragon to at least tell all that he knew of this place before slaying and eating his rightful prey. The dragon, pleased to have an audience, taught all that he knew.

  As Marjana spoke for the dragon, she changed her voice to an accent I could not place.

  “The stones here were formed by Karthak the Giant...”

  Ludmilja shrieked, “No, not that!”

  “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “Dragons are mean.”

  “But you didn’t mind them when I started the story.”

  “I didn’t know what they sounded like.” With that Ludmilja got up and ran farther back into the house. Zvono sighed and followed Soraya in to comfort her. Kapric leaned towards his mother.

  “Lezhans.”

  “Yes, dear,” agreed Marjana.

  I looked at them. “You think her angry ghosts spoke with a Lezhan accent.”

  They nodded.

  “Well, that’s something. How far is Lezh?”

  “About seven days west on Crownstreet.”

  “Close enough that they could easily know about Biljana’s Springs and the copse of trees there.”

  Kapric nodded as Zvono rejoined us.

  “Lezhans?”

  “Lezhans,” confirmed Zvono.

  As we walked out, I stopped before Radovan.

  “Keep a special eye out for Lezhans. Also, when you see Sebastijan, please ask him to come tell me anything he knows about Lezhans in Achrida.”

  Marjana stopped too and patted his cheek. “And tell him to come home. It’s been too long since he spoke to his mother.”

  Radovan nodded with his mouth open while
Kapric stomped away, his mother cheerfully following.

  Chapter 8

  Early Evening, 1 Blommemoanne, 1712 MG

  At the Square of Legends we bid farewell to Marjana, who turned south on the Trade Road toward her home. The rest of us returned to the Faerie, and soon Zoe’s dinner sat before us. Today she served shopska salad and pieces of yesterday’s bread. Some had been put in the oven and toasted with a salty goat cheese, and some held slices of beef that softened the bread with their juices.

  “Tell me about Lezh.”

  As usual, Kapric had not the patience to tell me things obvious to any child in Achrida, so Zvono starting teaching me.

  “Achrida is here because of its location. Two of the old caravan routes, the Kopayalitsa and the Crownstreet, meet with the Trade Road just north of the gates. Also, the city is located at one of the few places around Lake Achrida where the land and lake meet comfortably. When the Periaslavlans founded Anzhedonev on the far east of the lake route, Achrida became the obvious point to handle the lake trade in the west.”

  I nodded. I had learned all of this from Svetislav when I had dealt with the Gropas so I added, “The trade comes here from the east on lake boats, transfers to a caravan, marches to Lezh on Crownstreet, and then sails into every western port.”

  “Exactly. And all the trade of the west comes through Lezh and thence to here.”

  “Sounds like both cities make a great deal of money, but...”

  “The two cities compete for the lion’s share of the east-west trade.”

  Piri had explained to me once that the Empire of Makhaira essentially existed as a collection of rivalries. Clan against clan, tribe against tribe, guild against guild, and city against city.

  “And the Emperor encourages this.”

  “Every emperor we know of has.”

  I shook my head.

  “Does that mean that Gibroz and Katarina compete against rivals in Lezh as much as I’m guessing the Gropa and the Mrnjavcevic do?”

  Zvono laughed.

  “I would be shocked if they did not, though we’re less privy to what the kraljevics are doing than the zupans.”

  “All the more reason to visit the kraljevics.”

  She shrugged. “You’ve dealt with them before. You know we can’t help you.”